1, 931 words‼️
Utahime sat on the closed toilet seat, gripping the pregnancy test kit in her sweaty palm. The result stared back at her—negative. Again.
Her fingers clenched around the plastic stick, her jaw tightening as frustration bubbled inside her. This was supposed to work!
With a sharp growl, she threw the test at the wall, the plastic clattering loudly against the tiles before falling to the floor.
"Dammit!" she shouted, the sound echoing in the bathroom.
Before she could even catch her breath, a knock came at the door.
"…Utahime?" Inumaki's muffled voice carried through the wood, laced with curiosity. "You okay in there?"
Utahime shut her eyes, exhaling harshly. Of course, he had to hear that.
"I'm fine! Leave me the hell alone and get away!" she barked, her voice sharp with irritation.
There was a pause. Then, from the other side, Inumaki scoffed.
"Short-tempered brat," he muttered under his breath, his tone dry.
Inumaki turned to leave, but Utahime yanked his wrist, spun him around, and crashed her lips against his.
The kiss was harsh, desperate—all frustration and fire.
His eyes widened, body tensing against the sudden force. The hell?
She held him firm, nails digging into his skin, deepening the kiss as if trying to drown out her own rage.
Utahime pulled away, breathing heavily, her heart pounding in her chest.
Inumaki stared at her, his violet eyes slightly wide, clearly surprised.
Realizing what she had just done, heat rushed to her face. She quickly looked away, her brows furrowing into a grumpy, embarrassed frown as a deep blush spread across her cheeks.
She didn't say a word. Didn't dare to.
The air between them was thick with tension—awkward, charged, and completely unspoken. The silence hung thick between them—tense, heavy, unspoken.
Then, without warning, Inumaki yanked her back. Before she could react, his lips crashed onto hers—hard, confident, unhesitating.
Utahime's eyes widened, her breath hitching at the sudden dominance of the kiss. A deep blush flared across her cheeks, hotter than before.
She should have pushed him away—should have said something. But instead, she melted.
Her body relaxed, surrendering to the warmth, the intensity. Slowly, hesitantly, her arms lifted—then wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer.
Her heart pounded, but this time, not from anger.
Their lips never parted, tongues intertwining as the kiss deepened—hungry, desperate, unstoppable.
Minutes blurred together, their bodies moving on desire. Hands roaming, breath hitching, and lips never parting away.
Without breaking apart, they stumbled through the corridor, bodies colliding against walls, hands gripping, dragging each other closer.
The bathroom was a blur as they passed it, their pace never slowing until—they reached her bedroom.
Falling onto the bed, Inumaki hovered over her, his hands tracing down her arms.
His fingers found the thin strap of her top, sliding it off her shoulder with agonizing slowness.
Her breathing was uneven, but she wasn't stopping—her hands moving to his shirt, unbuttoning it one by one, revealing the warmth of his skin beneath.
Inumaki began to rip off the fabric of her underwear as he was lowering his pants, inserting himself in her.
He leaned closer, his lips curling into a teasing smirk as his fingers brushed lightly across her skin. He studied her for a moment, his eyes playful, before he spoke, his voice low and filled with amusement.
"Not a virgin, heh?" he whispered, his smirk widening as he was enjoying the teasing tension between them and her reactions.
Utahime's face flushed a deep red, her heart racing as she closed her eyes tightly, unable to meet his teasing gaze. She gripped the bedsheets with both hands, her knuckles white as she bit her lip.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice soft and shy, a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability. The words came out low, almost cute, as she tried to hide the flurry of emotions inside her.
Inumaki chuckled softly, the sound low and rich with amusement. His smirk deepened as he leaned in, his voice low and teasing.
"Neither am I a virgin," he murmured, his words carrying a playful edge as he continued, each touch more intimate, drawing her further into the moment, satisfying her in ways that left too much space in the room for her to moan.
Utahime, her face flushed with embarrassment, quickly covered her red cheeks with her hands, muttering under her breath, "I swear, the author didn't have to put us together in this novel..."
Inumaki rolled his eyes, a hint of annoyance creeping into his expression. He sighed, his tone a bit sharper now, but still holding a thread of patience.
"I told you," he said, his voice more firm this time, "the reason will make sense eventually. Just... wait for it." He glanced at her, his gaze softening just a touch as he continued, "Everything will come together in the end."
As they continied, Inumaki pushed it a little more into her, hitting it harder against hers—making her feel pain.
"Why would you do that?" she asked, a hint of irritation in her voice, her brows furrowing as she turned to face him—looking a little angry.
Inumaki chuckled confidentially, his expression playful but careful. He shrugged, pulling her closer with both arms around her waist. "Cause I wanted to," he said with a grin, his tone teasing but affectionate.
~~~***~~~
Meanwhile, in the night's darkness, while Utahime and Inumaki were lost in their intimate moment, Satoru was already in the bathroom, his face red and his stomach churning.
His face scrunched up in discomfort, he couldn't help but wonder what was happening to him. The tea he had drunk earlier had tasted perfectly normal, but now his stomach was churning and rebelling against him.
"Dammit, what did I eat?" he muttered to himself, clutching his stomach in agony. The powder you had found in the kitchen and secretly added to his tea had clearly taken effect.
Satoru's groans echoed through the bathroom, accompanied by the sound of rushing water as he repeatedly flushed the toilet. His face was red, and sweat dripped from his forehead as he struggled to catch his breath.
Just as he thought the ordeal was over, another wave of cramps hit him, sending him tumbling forward. Satoru's curses filled the air, mingling with the sound of his misery.
You stood outside, pressing your ear to the bathroom door, trying to stifle the laughter threatening to escape. There's a sick sort of satisfaction in knowing you've caused him discomfort, just enough to make him squirm—a small revenge, a taste of his own medicine. The stomach ache and diarrhea are nothing more than a ripple in his world, but it feels good to know you've disrupted his calm.
Then, you smoothed your expression, making it seem worried, concerned. You take a deep breath, adjusting your voice to sound soft and full of love. You knock gently on the door, letting your words drip with fake sweetness, "My dear husband, what's wrong? Is everything okay? Let me know if you need anything, love."
"Just having some diarrhea. I'm okay. I'll see you when I'm done w-wifey..." Satoru says tiredly, his voice strained with the pain of his stomach ache. He lets out another soft, muffled sound, a small noise escaping his mouth as he pushes out from his body in the toilet.
You nod sweetly, "Yes, hubby. I'll wait for you in the bedroom," then turn and head into the hallway. To your surprise, the young maid who offered to make tea earlier for you, your husband and his friends, is standing there, eavesdropping. Anger flares in you as you glare at her, raising your voice, "You! What are you doing here spying on me and my husband?"
Caught, the maid bows apologetically, "I'm very sorry, my lady. Please forgive me!"
"Get out of my face!" you shout, and she quickly turns away, heading downstairs.
Later, hiding behind a wall, you see her glare at the staircase, muttering, "What a loud brat," before going off to gossip with the other maids.
~Two days later~
Satoru's stomachache hasn't stopped. If anything, it's worse. You watch the evening sky through the bedroom window, overthinking. Maybe you went too far. You only meant to mess with him, but after slipping the powder even into his medicine drink yesterday, he's been stuck in the bathroom even more.
"I should stop. No more poisoning."
Suddenly, Satoru's phone rings. He's still in the bathroom, so you check it—Mother In Law.
"Mom? Hello?"
"Honey! You've been inactive for days! Satoru barely replies, but he said you were safe at home. And why haven't you come to the gala yet?"
Your stomach drops. "You're there already?"
"What do you mean? It's 8 PM! You should be here with him!"
Panic rushes through you. "O-okay, Mom. I'll get ready now." You hang up and rush to the bathroom door.
"Hubby? Are you done yet?"
From inside, Satoru groans, "No! This is just the beginning!"
You almost burst out laughing—he's been in there for at least forty minutes, but you controlled yourself from letting out your loud laugh.
"What about the gala?"
"Fuck that! We're not going! I'm dying here!"
Your heart pounds—"we're not going." But you won't miss this chance. If Satoru betrayed you with your own best friend, you can betray him too, but by just yourself because you aren't a whore.
You quickly dressed up and texted your mother. She arrived soon, the guards let her in without question because she was your mother. The moment she stepped inside, you rushed to her, linking arms.
The maids approached you. "Lady, where are you going?" Your mother scoffed. "Mind your business. She's my baby and she's coming with me." She lead you out. The guards hesitated but stepped aside at her icy glare.
Excitement and anxiety swirl in you, but your mother patted your shoulder. "I'll handle Satoru if he throws a tantrum, honey." Relieved, you decided to put your trust in her.
~~~***~~~
Arriving at the gala with your mother, you instantly feel the weight of every gaze. She had already received a warm welcome earlier, but now, all eyes are on you.
The moment people recognize you as Satoru Gojo's wife, their faces light up. Guests rush toward you for handshakes, hugs, kisses, and pictures. Your mother, as Satoru's mother-in-law, receives just as much attention.
Dressed in a gold, glittering gown—sleeveless, elegantly revealing your shoulders, chest, back, and the right leg—you stand out. Beside you, your mother stuns in silver, both of you exuding confidence and allure.
Being rich and well-connected always brought admiration, but this level of obsession from people only came after your marriage to Satoru.
Latet, as you were sipping your juice, your mother enjoyed her wine, chatting with you while surrounded by your aunties and her friends. The party hums with laughter and conversation, but your attention drifts when you spot Suguru Geto.
Dressed in an elegant, tailored suit, he stands out—refined, confident, effortlessly attractive. The way he carries himself, the air of wealth and power around him, makes it impossible not to notice. And worse, he's surrounded by women.
A sharp pang of jealousy twists in your chest, your heart burning at the sight. You roll your eyes, refusing to let it get to you. Turning away, you walk off into the quiet hallway, needing a moment to breathe.
From across the room, Suguru notices. His sharp eyes catch the way you rush off, and after a brief, polite excuse to the women around him, he follows—leaving them behind to check on you.
💌 Oh dear, Suguru... Take this—>🫀
To be continued...